


I could make it beautiful

by Evanshm_5001



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Family Dynamics, Not Beta Read, Suicide, They/Them Pronouns for Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Traitor Eret (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:08:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28356753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evanshm_5001/pseuds/Evanshm_5001
Summary: Inspired by have you heard of the sleepy bois by Yuxia_Featherlight and a deleted work called he must've thought it was sunlight by WreakingHavok.My First work.Retelling of the Dream SMPUnreliable narrator, im unreliable get used to it.Bad formatting. Not beta read, if someone is willing to do it comment but like... its coolEnjoy...
Relationships: Eret & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & Phil Watson, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Kudos: 18





	I could make it beautiful

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Have You Heard of the Sleepy Bois?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27504871) by [Yubee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yubee/pseuds/Yubee). 



“I Could Make It Beautiful" 

Feathers brushed up against objects of memories. A man sat in a dusty room; his black wings spread across the room. He looked to his left, at a window overlooking the city. Down there was a festival, people coming from far and wide, using a hub, carved from another dimension. Purple and black portals spat out laughing people. They celebrated a day revolutionaries had won their nation. The day the city became a crater, of a mourning forgotten, sans the memoirs in dusty archives. 

It all began when someone left a window open and five children climbed through. The house was of a man that would become a father. Said man was a survivalist, he lived in the wilderness by himself, surviving for years alone. People say he was kind, but when there was danger, there was a fire in his eyes that froze men in their spot. He wore a green robe and a white and green striped hat on blond hair. You could hear his wings beating if he were nearby and survived things with a skill no mortal could match. His parents gave him his name, Philza. 

The oldest child was a siren. People said his voice was as smooth as diamonds, manners of a gentleman, and good with words. He is well known to start and end wars with a whisper, using his words to spread chaos of gods of sky and sea. Enchanted by his voice, people looked at him like the fire he wielded when words were not enough. He was tall, wore a trench coat over yellow sweaters, and a beanie. Fire and chaos came a little too easy, and with words too smooth to be of a man. When he chose a father in Philza, he chose the name Wilbur Soot. 

The next oldest was the blood god. He was the most brutal, while his twin used words, he used swords and shields. He vowed himself to gods of blood and chaos. People wouldn't tell him a human, nicknamed "The Blood God" by friends and foes. He won fame in blood sports, dominating enemies in every field. The stench of his namesake wafting into the air, his blade was always covered. He wore a light blue uniform with a matching cape. A gold crown on top of pink hair and a mask, made from the skull of a boar. He had tusks that peeked out of lips, hooves that have stomped out lives and a bloodlust that was not a gods bidding. When he followed Wilbur, he chose a name, as normal as he wished he could be, his name was Technoblade. 

The next was the monarch. They were gentle but unmovable like the waves of an ocean. Likewise, they could rise into a tsunami to drown their enemies. Distinguished and a diplomat at heart, they used compromise as their weapons. They melded into whatever form need, excelling in worlds of espionage and politics. They wore a royal outfit, jewels in their crown forming a rainbow, or a strawberry dress. A pair of sunglasses covered blank eyes, an only constant, and hid loyalty and truth too well. When they learned trust, they chose a name of eternal strength, Eret. 

Next was the lawyer. The boy interacted more than the others, a foolish villager tried to threaten him. For scraps of information that villager left homeless and humiliated. People found they shouldn't underestimate him; he was always in the shadows for a reason. He knew everything, pulled out your deepest secrets, twisted your words into doubt. His words were heavy, putting you in the spotlight. They were short, always wearing a suit, and held a compass, enchanted to point to his twin. People believed he was something Else, another worldly being, his words bringing chaos. He followed his twin to a family, and he chose the name Tubbo. 

The loudest and youngest of the group was the gremlin. People made the mistake of looking down on him. Before sixteen, he made a faction, traveled alone, stood against and swindled gods for fun. The others had trained him, his fighting style a combination of his family’s and his own. He could start a conversation and end it with a few words, as he learned from Wilbur. He would often wear a T-shirt, white with red sleeves, or a uniform, a suit and tie or a revolutionary getup. He appeared human, but some would side eye him, having gotten out of too many scrapes with a grin. When he joined Wilbur, he changed from who he once was, his name Tommyinnit. 

Whispers of the survivalist, the siren, the blood god, the monarch, the lawyer, and the gremlin rose. While all different, abilities and age-wise they were family. They were not normal, some type of holy figures, no matter how many years go by, they will never age, or were too. The family sat in small graves looking out at the ocean. They fell, and Philza could make it beautiful. 

First, Eret, traded his family, trust, for a crown. They wanted to be something other than a shadow of their family. Tension and confusion cloud the room, a ghost of regret lay on their shoulders like a shawl. They stood tall and unyielding, the world falling around them as a button clicks. They give a twisted salute as side rooms reveal, pouring out enemy forces. The chaos was as if it was only market days, pushing and shoving to stalls of goods. The family memorized every detail, the fraying uniform, and blank eyes. The iron smells like scrapes from games of tag or as sickening as war. Red stains, torn uniforms, splashing onto stone walls like rain. It does not touch Eret, almost like they are holy. If you did not blink, they looked like their father, backdropped against the sun. They let out a warrior's cry, strong and unwavering as the ocean, “It was never meant to be.” 

Wilbur fell next, betrayed by siblings and friends, exiled by the ram he went through the god's trials with. He wanted an end to his twisted tale. There was no denying the poignant aura in the room, the tension behind him like a halo. Wilbur stood martyr-like, one hand on a detonator and the other on his temple. A bitter salute to a country he no longer believed in. The resulting fire is akin to the warmth of the sun Wilbur used to play in. Memorized every thread in his trench coat as the wind begins to blow. The smell being of fireworks on sweet summer nights if eyes closed exactly right. That, or so nauseating it could be monsters of war, prepping to blow you to bits. The stone cracks, an anthem twisted out like vines on the wall. All falls, and he does not move, the rubble clatters around, afraid to touch, like he is holy. The glare silhouettes Wilbur till he looked like Philza. A tiny whisper of relief, “My unfinished symphony, forever unfinished. It was never meant to be.” 

Next was Technoblade, seeing his family fall into the lure of power. He wanted his family to be safe and he was willing to destroy everything to do it. There was an ambience of power around him, surrounding him like sparks on a flame. He stood unflinching; head thrown back. He screaming to gods once believed in and gave them the salute of an unbeliever as a ritual began. The magic making it, so the power that had made him insane once couldn't arise. The memories of cold and snow rose, so palpable he could almost see his breath despite the warmth. The youngers memorized him, his speech of how Tommy was a new Theseus, the hero without a happy ending. The magic smelt of days learning at home to enchantments sharpening blades. He finished the ritual, monsters from the depths of hell crawling forth. He does not move, the monsters avoiding him as for half a second, he was holy. The moon on his back gave the silhouette of a man thought to be a father. He shouted tried to get them to see, ending, “If you want to be a hero, Tommy. If you want to be a hero. Die like one! Because it was never meant to be.” 

Tubbo was next to fall, the government Techno destroyed rebuilt, Tubbo made president. Tubbo wanted freedom, the freedom to yell that he was a kid, not meant to be doing this. Around him was an aspect of anguish surrounding him like a veil. He stood hunched, staring down at his twin, a speech exiling his twin, plans sat crumpled up, he gave a salute. The only memories were of a ram shouting out orders of death, of family breaking farther apart. Tommy looked up, memorized the last time he saw his twin. There were no smells, nothing but the sight in front of him. Tubbo gives a small cry, as if the tears were holy. The sun in the back showed his father for a moment, till the people blinked and saw horns of ram, a dictator. He sobbed out, “I as president, hereby EXILE Tommy son of Philza from these lands never to return. It was never meant to be.” 

Tommy sat alone, looking out of a bridge at a sea of lava in the hub. The dimension of fire and brimstone burning him as he sat. The people that exiled him were beyond a towering portal. Forced here they mock him, making him see a picture of what he could not have. A hand came and pulled him back. “It’s not your time to die yet Tommy.” the masked man mocked. Tommy began walking to the portal that led to his place of exile till he stopped. “You would know, making me die when you tell me to. But Techno wasn't right, I am not Theseus. I am Icarus and I won’t die your pawn.” And Tommy threw himself off the bridge. Tommy fell, giving in to the pull of the lava. He only wanted warmth, a home. An aura of power, grief, regret, an amalgamation of his family spread out like wings. His limbs reached out, wings sprouting out of shoulders. Feathers falling past fingertips, his head tipped back laughter spilling out. With a salute to his enemy, the only one left from the beginning. From up top, the masked man threw himself to the edge in a hopeless attempt to catch the falling teen. The masked man saw what the sun must have when Icarus fell, a holy thing. The lava showed a silhouette of a grieving, regretful, insane, protective, chained family. Shouting into fire to an unwitting audience, a final goodbye, "It's never my time, because it was never meant to be." 

In a beautiful world they are in a place where forgiveness grows like dandelions. Twins play fighting with sticks and screaming in jest, not war. Others weaving flower crowns, not arrow's fletching. Another is building a bonfire, not for destruction but smores. 

But this is not a beautiful world. There was nothing beautiful about a sibling sending you to death nor the regret that rests. There was nothing beautiful about a brother blowing your home into a crater nor the echo of madness. There was nothing beautiful about a brother condemning you, or the plague of insanity. There was nothing beautiful about a twin becoming an echo of his abuser, breaking as he sent his other half away. There was nothing beautiful about a child that saw death as the only choice. There was nothing beautiful about fathers outliving their children, writing their history alone. Nothing was beautiful, the blood was not poetic, only red. It could be beautiful, but it would be a lie.


End file.
